dreamlikenewyork | "The show must go on."

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"The show must go on."

Who: Paris and Michael Hart
What: Chemo Day #2
Where: Oncology Unit, Mount Sinai
When: Tuesday morning

Paris didn't want to get himself lulled into a false sense of security, but he expected his first day of chemo to be much worse. It might have been his own positive vibes or something, but they said if he was feeling okay after the first dose, he could be discharged to go home for the night, where he would continue to be an outpatient for his treatments, save for any complications. He would be monitored closely just in case. He knew he was in good hands, and they only lived a short distance from the hospital, so if anything went wrong, they were nearby. Tara had promised him from the bottom of her heart that she would do everything she could to make sure he could be in his own space as much as he could, and that was what he wanted. To be able to go home to his own bed, out of the spotlight, to get through this the best he could.

Admittedly, he was feeling exhausted and nauseous when he left, but it was manageable. Tara said to make sure he was honest with any chemo side effects so they could address those as they came up. He didn't have an appetite when he got home and just wanted to lie down. As soon as Michael helped him into bed, he crashed out and slept right through until Michael was waking him once again that morning to head back to the hospital for the next day of treatment. He didn't even feel that bad that morning. He managed some toast and a cup of tea. Mostly what he was feeling was cold. He couldn't stop shivering, so Michael helped him layer up for the trip back to the hospital.

He got into the hospital bed, and the nurse brought him a couple of heated blankets, but it didn't feel like anything could warm him up. "My head's starting to hurt again," he revealed to Michael now they were settled and just waiting for the nurse to come back and start the infusion. He was shivering and trying to pull the blanket tighter around him. "Feel a bit sick too. I feel like I'm completely over it already and it's barely started."

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Michael was fussing. A lot. Paris knew he was fussing, but he seemed okay with it. Which was a relief, because Michael didn't know any other way to tackle this but do what he has always done - care for Paris. At the same time, Paris wasn't feeling well enough to have everything in order here. Even if hadn't been physically sick (yet), he was visible weak and pale. Michael was proud of his husband, though. All things considered, he had been hit with two hard blows this past couple of weeks. Although he was yet to talk about - or mention - the latter, he was holding it together the best he could.

He tucked the blankets a little more snug around Paris. "I know, sweetie. But we're just going to weather it together. Let me just ask the nurse if you can have something for the pain." He stepped out into the corridor and found the nurse Paris had been assigned today. He asked if Paris could have something for his head, and possibly something that might help with him feeling sick. He also asked if he was allowed to lie on the bed with Paris because he was so cold. "Okay, you'll have to scoot over a bit, babe. We've got free reign to do what we like, but I'm assuming that means nothing naughty," he joked, giving Paris a sympathetic smile.

Michael's fussing was actually a comfort to Paris. He was such a constant in Paris' life that this was the normalcy he needed right now. It was keeping him sane. There was a part deep down inside that was in constant terror mode. He wanted to lose his shit over everything; break down, cry, scream, yell, hit something because it wasn't fair he had to deal with all this. But he didn't have the energy to sustain an emotional onslaught like that. He was just going through the motions, trying to take each part as it came, and there was a veil protectiveness numbness that had fallen over him. Like, if he didn't think on it too long, it was easy to face. He wasn't ready to take the bull by the horns yet. That would inevitably come when all this got too much.

He raised his eyebrows tiredly. "You can lie down with me? I won't say no to that." Hospital beds were the least comfortable thing to sleep in, and the fact he had flu-like aches and pains all over didn't help. He was used to his plus, extra-soft, Egyptian cotton sheeted, king size bed with views over Central Park and a huge widescreen TV. He was lying there, feeling his head do this odd pulse-throb pain thing, feeling the nausea slosh around in his gut. Feeling all over sick. "I miss my mom," he soon admitted in a tiny voice out of the blue. It took all his effort not to start crying when he said it.

Michael was unpacking some things from Paris' messenger bag that was packed to come to the hospital, making sure Paris' phone, iPad, water bottle, hand sanitiser, etc. were all in easy reach for him. Jude was around here somewhere, having been with the nurse when Paris got checked in for the day. He had given Michael a supply of sick bags in case Paris felt unwell. He made sure Paris had one near his hand, just in case, before he carefully moved the edge of the covers so he could get onto the bed with Paris. He wasn't hooked up to the infusion yet, but Jude put him on an IV of fluids because he seemed a little dehydrated. He was careful not to jolt the needle in his arm, and cuddled up close to him, giving him a tender kiss on the temple.

"I bet you do," he murmured. He wasn't surprised to hear this. He also wasn't surprised Paris was comfortable admitting his vulnerability here. If there was anyone else in hearing distance, he probably wouldn't have. He started to rub soft circles to Paris' chest through the blankets. "Do you remember her going through chemo, sweetheart?"

Tara had been excellent in doing the best she could to prepare them for Paris' treatment. They were told all about what they may expect, but there was a huge emphasis on the fact everyone was different. It was a myth that every chemo patient lost their hair, but the higher level of drugs they put into your cocktail, the more significant chance you had of it because in order for chemo to kill off the cancerous cells in your body, it also killed off healthy cells, including hair follicles. Paris didn't care about his hair. Not really, although if it came to it, he was sure it would be confronting. What he was more worried about was being so sick, he lost his dignity. Or gossip rags trying to stick their nose in on his business to get the scoop. His dignity and privacy were more valuable to him than his hair, that may hopefully grow back if he lost it.

Tara had, unfortunately, told him that the drugs they were using for his regime had a high probability of nausea and vomiting. Plus, the fact they had been digging around in his head didn't help. Michael had everything in order. He had even brought a little bag of apple slices because they said if Paris felt up to eating, small snacks of fruit might help. "Yeah, as clear as if it was yesterday. I don't know, maybe that's why this is unnerving me. I was trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about most things..." He had no words for how nice it felt that Mikey could be there lying with him through this.

"I think the fact that it is cancer is unnerving, love. You don't need to think about anything until you're ready. That goes about what you're dealing with medical, going through the grief process, and remembering your mom went through all of this. You don't have to talk about it until you're ready. I just want you to know I'm here if you want to." The nurse came back then, with Jude in tow, all gowned and masked up for the infusion to start. Michael was given a mask of his own to put on, but that couldn't even hide the look of apprehension at the sight of all this. It was overwhelming and intimidating, but without it, Paris would die. Tara had said that. She couldn't remove all the brain tumour, because it was too risky. This was the only way.

He stayed there and held Paris' hand while the next dose of the chemicals were sent pumping through his veins. There wasn't a lot of talking while this was all happening. All he could do was just... watch. That was it. There was no other way he could help, and he hated that. He appreciated all the medical care on hand, and appreciated that these nurses had a terrible job to do most of the time, but he was glad when Paris' infusion was all sorted, he had a bottle of ginger ale there for him to sip on now, and Jude brought him yet another blanket when he saw that Paris was still shivering. "When all this is over, I want us to renew our vows," he was saying, completely out of the blue.

Paris just lay there with his eyes closed while they did all this. He had discovered he couldn't watch the infusions going in with the scary needles, not even to flush the port, because it turned his stomach. As if he wasn't cold enough, it felt like ice water going into his veins. Yesterday, he thought he was a bit numb through the whole process. It was like he was on auto-pilot and just did it because he had to. Today, he felt more away of the process. He felt sick, and it was hitting him how sick he was to get to this point. He was actually having chemotherapy pumped into his veins, just like his mom had. Only, with his mom, it hadn't worked, had it? He was terrified, and the only way he could get through it was grabbing his balls and just doing it. Like he had done with so many other things in his life. Fake it until you make it, and all that.

Then the nurse was telling him with a gentle pat to his arm that it was all done, and gave him the buzzer in case he needed them. And Mikey was saying that. Paris opened his eyes and looked at his husband. It was the last thing he really expected to come up at a time like this. "Renew our vows?" There was a tiny voice in his head telling him to abort mission, and quickly, because it felt like it might jinx things. But the louder voice pushed through and told him it was something to look forward to. "I think I'd really like that, babe. What made you think of that?"

"Because I mean them now more than I ever have. Because when you make it through this, I want everyone to know that you're my world, and how proud I am of you for getting through it. More importantly, though, this is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done, and I want us to have something to look forward to. Plus, what went down with Justin and his parents, maybe we could ask him to help us out. I know you love spending time with him, and by then, you'll probably be wanting to make up for family time." Michael was gentle stroking Paris' hair as he spoke. No matter how sick his husband was, he was the most beautiful person in the world, as far as Michael was concerned. The painfully epic crush he had on him for so long before Paris cottoned on was notorious now. He just never expected any of it to come to this.

He opened the ginger ale for Paris and put the straw into it. "Do you want to gave a little of this, sweetheart? Or we can get you a cup of tea. That might help warm you up a little. Or do you want to try to sleep a little? I don't want to fuss and shit you off, though. So, if you just want to lie here quietly, I'm okay with that too. I love you, and I... I'm scared. I wasn't going to tell you that, but I need to. I'm scared. But not because of the obvious. I'm scared because I want to help you so much more, and I can't. I wish I could fix it all for you, or swap places with you."

Paris listened, concentrating on Mikey's voice as he spoke and feeling the tender stroking to his hair. "That feels nice. Don't stop," he murmured. "Justin's really special to me. He's the only nephew I'll have, and he's an amazing kid. I'm proud of Gen for stepping up and doing so well being a parent, even if she's slipped lately. She just needs to keep remembering that he sees things differently, and if she's getting a gut feeling about something, she needs to talk to him. That's the key, nurturing the connection to him. If you don't, he'll sever it. He has a long history of people hurting him, he's always going to wall himself up to try to protect himself from that. I know. I've been there. Maybe we could ask him to help plan the vow renewal with us?"

He scrunched his face up in lieu of shaking his head. Any movement of his head hurt at the moment. "I can't put anything in my mouth right now. It'll make me throw up. I'm feeling too sick. Fuck, second day in, and I've already had enough. Just lie here with me and keep talking to me. It's a good distraction from dwelling on what they're doing to me." He took Michael's hand again, squeezing it as best he could. "I know you're scared, Mikey. I know you don't know how to deal with this, and I know it's wearing you down. But you're everything to me. I don't tell you that enough. You're the love of my life, and the best thing to ever happen to me was you crushing on me, even if I pulled some basic bitch moves with you while I was getting my act together."

It was a known concept that tough times could either divide you, or bring you closer together. Michael was determined for it to be the latter, no matter what it took. Nothing else in the world mattered more in this moment than him being here with Paris through every step of his treatment, and whatever struggles were going to come medically for him. He knew that wouldn't be easy. He had already borderline fucked up in London when he assumed Paris checking himself out of the hospital had been stubbornness. That went against all the promises he had made in his relationship, and he had learned his lesson. "I think now more than ever, family's the most important thing. Family, and whatever you can cope with that brings you comfort. Just please don't make me watch reruns of Project Runway, because I might cry," he joked. Some humour had to be important too. Paris had a dry and sarcastic sense of humour. It wouldn't evaporate on account of the fact he was ill. "I think he'd like that. With all this happening, he'll probably want to spend time with you too, if you'll be okay with that. I know you won't want to worry him."

"Okay, it's okay. It's here if you want it. Hopefully the medication they gave you for the nausea should kick in a little. I don't know how good it will be, though. Tara said it might take testing different regimes to see what is the most helpful of you." That was yet another thing he had written down in the notebook he had started carrying since it became evident Paris' health was taking a dive, and it was serious. He couldn't even read some of his notes, but most of it was decipherable enough for him to learn along the way. "Hey, you tell me all the time. I've never doubted it. I'm glad you had some basic moments. It put you more on par with my level, because you were always this... exceptional human being. That still goes."

"Promise, no Project Runway reruns. I'd probably give myself a hernia bitching at the TV about the appalling offerings. Like I need a fucking hernia on top of all this other... health crap I suddenly have. Or maybe not so suddenly. Health crap that I started taking notice of, I guess. I just want you to know, though, if you need Marty around you for any of this, or your sister, or any of the rest of your family, I'm okay with that. No, I'm not in the best head sprace, and mostly I just want privacy and to curl up in a ball of misery and hope it all goes away. But your family is by family, and if you need them, I'm okay if they're here," Paris told him through another wave of the shivers. "If Justin can cope with seeing all this, then I'm okay if he needs to spend time with me. I just worry it might trigger stuff for him. The kid's pretty strong with the toughest of tough shit, though."

He closed his eyes and he let his head come to rest against Michael's shoulder. He closed his eyes. It was a weird mix of sensations he was feeling at the moment. He ached all over, much like flu symptoms, as Tara warned. He had been sick a few times, and his legs had felt so week that morning that he ended up sitting on the floor of the shower and just letting the water fall on him. It would only get worse, he understood that. That was okay. He would do everything he needed to do to try to hold onto his life. He wasn't ready to go yet. "Do you ever think how it all might've been if we started dating in the early days? Do you think it would have worked out in much the same way?"

Michael nodded sadly, having absolutely no intention of leaving Paris' side through any of this. The most he would probably do was use the bathroom, shower, eat, maybe sit in another room and watch TV is Paris needed to sleep. He was the sort of guy who took his wedding vows seriously. No, they hadn't used traditional vows, they had written their own, but they did cover the whole sickness and health, better and worse, thing in their own words. Michael just never would have envisaged Paris going down like this. He had always been so pristine, groomed, and fit. To perfection. Michael had been privy to the fact Paris was human for a long time now. That was just what happened when you were a PA, but Paris had rarely fallen ill, and if he did, he worked through it. You couldn't work through cancer. "My family will come second to your's right now. And that's okay. Marty will be there by default, and Kalen with him, but only if you're up to it. No one is going to be offended or hurt if you don't want anyone around."

The first time Paris was sick in the wake of the first chemo dose, it was like he was losing a battle he was trying to succeed in. He had clung to Tara telling him that not all cancer patients suffered the classic side effects like vomiting and hair loss. It would just be likely for Paris because it was a brain tumour, and he had other issues at play affecting his balance and vision. In the last-ditch attempt to fight it, Paris had been sick all over himself and it upset him. Michael just cleaned him up and got him to bed. Their official relationship had started with Paris caring for Michael when he had been ill. This was marriage. He was here no matter what. He smiled softly, amused. "No, not at all. It wouldn't have happened. You were the utmost professional. You never mixed business with pleasure. I just had to go home every day and jerk off under my wrist her because the crush was epic."

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"The show must go on."

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